


Negative Emotions ft. Nicholas Fish

by activatethetightpants



Category: Original Work
Genre: Writing Exercise
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-09
Updated: 2014-08-09
Packaged: 2018-02-12 10:31:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2106384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/activatethetightpants/pseuds/activatethetightpants
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I'm just working with describing negative emotions using my main protagonist from my story thing.  So like.  Here.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Negative Emotions ft. Nicholas Fish

**Author's Note:**

> These were so fun to write like hot damn. :D 
> 
> I'm probably going to add more soon, I just have to get ready to like write them and stuff.
> 
> Character and writing (c) me, man

**Sadness**

            I imagine this is what it feels like to be dissolved in an atomic blast.  To have the constitution of your very being stripped away, to feel it all on some level beyond the corporeal, to recognize you’re being speedily chipped away at but to be powerless to stop it.  Yeah, it’s that kind of sadness.  Out-of-body-experience-sadness.  You recognize you’re slumping to your knees, but you don’t feel it.  You know tears are biting your eyes, dribbling onto your cheeks, but you can’t feel the moisture or the sharp bite of your tear ducts catering to your emotions.  All you can feel, all that exists, the only thread holding you to yourself, is the sickening twist of darkness that seems to have taken the place of your liver.  It’s a certain kind of darkness, one with tentacles.  It’s greedy.  It doesn’t settle for taking the place of an organ, it needs to _have_ all of your organs.  Its tendrils latch onto your kidneys, your stomach, slides between the slats of your ribs, constricts your lungs and your heart.

            I can’t breathe.  The world is being torn to ribbons.  All that exists is caustic pain and overwhelming numbness.

 

**Anger**

            It surges, full-forced and inexplicably red.  I’m hyperaware of every part of my body.  My muscles strain like agitated dogs held back by too-short chains.  A gong’s going off in my head.  My entire being is a time bomb.  Tick tick tick tock, I’m ready to blow and take everything down with me.  Everything is sharp and dry.  Everything’s begging me to go off, to lose my patience.  I can’t stop moving my leg, clinching my fists.  Coils of anger, unforgiving as barbed wire, tighten around my muscles and constrict.  My throat is raw and my voice sounds like shredded meat.  I need to scream.

My knuckles beg for masochism.  They yearn to be split, to experience the white-hot pain and pleasure that comes with punching an asshole in the face.

And who am I to deny them?

 

**Fear**

            Tris Prior wasn’t original.  Fear wakes everyone up, it doesn’t slow them down.  If fear slows you down, natural selection is coming for you.

            I crouch, my back to damp bricks.  My heart’s thrumming in atonal rhythms.  I clinch my fists, focusing hard on every thought that whizzes through my mind, each screaming for attention, demanding their time in the spotlight.  Everything’s incredibly clear to me.  I can see every crack in the asphalt, hear every passing car.  Every footstep. 

            I try to swallow, but my throat has twisted shut. 

            My palms are clammy.  My sternum is enigmatically heavy, as though it had suffered a physical blow.  The back of my throat is bone-dry.  Sickening nausea twists up inside my gut.  Why am I breathing so loud?  I shove myself back against the wall and pray that God starts caring about me long enough to keep me alive.

 

**Jealousy**

            My guts roil like they’ve rubbed raw and introduced to salt.  The fragile venules webbing under my skin, the thick arteries and veins attaching my heart to my limbs, the tiny capillary beds acting as transits, they all flow with a feeling that is rotten green.  Everything I feel is Rotten and Green.  Everything I see is rotten and green.  Everything I smell is Rotten and Green. 

My lungs are skittish.  I can feel twisting threads of envy helixing around my trachea, tickling at the back of my tongue, coaxing my vocal cords to bark out my spite in razor-wire words. 

            The skin between my fingers becomes hyper sensitive.  I can feel the Green-Eyed Monster squeezing up under my sternum, making itself at home.  And why shouldn’t it be at home?  It’s as much a part of me as any of my organs.  It works overtime, just like them, working, working, working, just so I can function.  It is a constant facet of my being.

However, sometimes it produces more green, sometimes it creates more rot and sometimes it _screams_ louder than others.  And today, its scream is deafening.

**Author's Note:**

> EMotionS are hARD.


End file.
